


Remember When

by bloodofpyke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:17:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofpyke/pseuds/bloodofpyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-ADWD, after the war when Sansa's Queen of the North and Theon has become Theon again; written for Stephie's <a href="http://mockyrfears.livejournal.com/2421.html">GOT Kink Meme</a> under the prompt <i>comfort</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember When

It was biting at him, the cold, and he shivered under his furs, imaged his bones poking through and rattling along with him, and then he heard footsteps, light and soft, and he stopped thinking, only looked up. _Sansa_ , he remembered, and for a half a beat he tried to find a rhyme for her--you had to know your _name_ \--but then he remembered, and he looked at her eyes and tried to smile for her, tried to show that he was still Theon.

“They tell me you never killed my brothers,” she said, voice cool and smooth. His head shook, and he tried to find words, but couldn’t. It didn’t matter, though, she was looking down at him and her mouth was moving again. “They also tell me you never destroyed Winterfell.” A beat, and then she was kneeling next to him, skirts pooling on the stone, and her voice sounded broken when she spoke again. _“Why?”_ she asked, and he didn’t know if she was asking about Bran and Rickon, about Winterfell, about Robb, about the war, so he kept silent and moved a hand to her shoulder, thinking at how small it looked against her body.

***

She was crying against her pillow, the tears running hot down her cheeks, and her fists were beating at the bed, and he sat at the foot of her bed, and didn’t know what to make of it. 

“It’ll be okay,” he tried, his voice rasping and frail. 

It seemed to work; she sat up, her hands running at her eyes. “I know,” she told him, and when she turned her gaze on him, he shuddered; she looked like Lady Catelyn just there, like ice and the North and vengeance. 

“Right,” he said, his fingers worrying at the hem of his shirt. 

It was a moment before she spoke again, this girl queen, this ruler of the north (but she wasn’t a girl anymore, he had to remind himself, but when he looked at her, he still saw the little girl whose eyes lit up at stories). “Remember when,” she started, her voice thick, “remember when the snows fell so thick we were buried inside for days, and Bran climbed out a window and came back with snowballs for us? And we made such a mess in the great hall, all laughing and covered in snow, and mother made us clean it right up?” 

He did, bits and pieces, and he smiled a broken smile for her. “Remember when,” he answered, “remember when Arya was learning to ride horseback, and Robb told her that her horse had been a unicorn, only it had its horn sawed off, and she made Bran hunt for it in the stables with her?” 

She had laughed at that, her eyes sparkling suddenly, and he found himself liking that, liking that he could make her smile with a memory. 

They stayed up until first light talking, the dawn creeping into the room as they sprawled on the bed. _Remember when remember when remember when._


End file.
